Accountability (more TMOD)

Slow and steady. That's been my writing motto lately. Trying to force it on days when I'm too tired to write, or not feeling any sort of motivation to create something halfway decent, is (obviously) not working. And moreover, it's frustrating. I hate not being able to do something well, which often stops me from even trying. When it comes to writing, that just won't do.

First drafts are rough. Period, end of sentence, no argument necessary. There's not "unless" or "but" to follow that up with. I know first drafts are rough, both in the writing and the process. It's sloppy and painful. When I'm ready to write, I love it. Embrace the mess! But because I've been having a stress-fest lately (woo, fun!), it's stopped being fun, which is something I will never let happen to my writing. I love writing, and I don't want to let anything take that joy away from me.

Life obligations beckon, though, and -- as I've said a thousand times on this blog -- it's becoming harder for me to find time to write. So I'm letting go of the burden of expectations when it comes to this novel I'm writing. T.M.o.D will be done when it is done. I will chip away at it until I am satisfied. Until it makes me happy.

That being said, it will get done. I'm not giving up on this book, even if it takes me years to write. I have to come to accept the fact that I do not write as fast as I used to because I am working full time to support myself. I have to accept that the way I write is different. I am different. My process, my work, will reflect that. One part of my process I do not want to let go of, though, is accountability. While I will write at the pace I find comfortable, I do want the world to remember that I am writing a book. That it is something that will happen. You'll be that voice in the back of my mind that quietly asks, "Hey, have anything new to share?" So let me share something! Again! Because accountability!

Here's a snippet (once more, unrevised) from chapter 2 of T.M.o.D. And while you're at it, you may as well peruse the inspiration board for the book.


Chapter 2


There’s a certain mercilessness to New England in November. The wind refuses to pull punches. The cold sinks its teeth as far as it can into the bones of man. Snow -- endless snow, still coming down in fits and tantrums from the dark sky -- smothered the streets, and hiding just below it, a wicked sheet of ice. It made the twenty minute trek off campus a little more than unpleasant. If any of them had a car, it would have made the ten minute drive deadly.

James and Lewis led the group, trudging through knee-deep snow. They were equally entrenched in another argument. Each counterpoint left a ghost of breath in their wake.

A collector of old books and older philosophies, James was on a constant search for meaning in a world that appeared indifferent to his existence. The spiraling crisis he had when he sensed that indifference chased him into the library and pushed his nose into dozens of books in a desperate attempt to find a solution. His Gilgamesh existentialism, they called it, to which he found a solution; several, each week. More times than not, it was Lewis he tested his theories on first. If it survived his criticism, perhaps it had legs of its own. Perhaps it could really be something one day, if James saw it through.

Scottie leaned in toward Theo. “Which do you think will kill them first: the cold or conceding their point?”

Lewis shouted something vulgar at James. Scarves whipping in the wind, they curled their shoulders in further, tucking their chins under their collars. Even with muffled voices, the bickering continued.

He answered him the same time Scottie began to speak. “The cold,” they said together.

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